A city in the twilight, dim and vast
by Citiesofcolor
Summary: AU. On New Caprica, Bill waits and worries for Laura.


**Title: **A city in the twilight, dim and vast  
**Characters/pairing:** Bill, A/R  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings: **None  
**Word count: **2, 313  
**Summary: **On New Caprica, Bill waits and worries.  
**A/N: **Although not originally intended for the A/R Pentathlon, it ended up working out fantastically for it and never would have been finished otherwise, so I'm submitting it anyway. Here's my A/R fic. Thank you to letterstonorah and newnumbertwo for the betas! The title is from Longfellow's poem _Mezzo Cammin_, which is one of my favorite poems ever.

* * *

Outside, sleet falls heavily from a gray sky. In the distance, centurion patrols circle the settlement, the sound of their falling feet predictable and rhythmic as a metronome. Somewhere outside he hears low voices, skinjobs maybe, other people. A baby cries.

These are the sounds that make up night on cylon-occupied New Caprica when Laura's not here with him, sounds Bill has gotten used to in the months he has been here. He sits, pensive, listening and trying to take his mind off the fact that he only notices them because she's not here to distract him from them, just like he knows that the sleet will freeze in the night, leaving a slick, glassy cover over the settlement. In the early morning, before the sun rises, everything will sound muffled and faraway, sheeted in gleaming ice. Not that he's ever seen it, but Laura says that it's beautiful.

_"It's like a mirror Bill."_ She'd said one night as they lay on her cot together. _"It's the one thing on this frakking planet that's actually beautiful."_

The cylon patrols are forced to move more slowly during the hours just before sunrise when the ice is at its thickest. They shatter it with every heavy step, and it makes them, easier to detect and avoid.; He should know; whenever Laura bundles up tight to sneak across the camp to meet the resistance, he, Admiral Atheist, finds himself praying that she will come back to him. That's when the resistance meetings are, that little slice of time between night and dawn, in the underground bunker beneath their tent, or in Tyrol's tent like tonight, or sometimes in the union one when the group is larger. He'd gone out of his way to make it so that Laura's tent was conveniently located in a small pocket of former _Galactica_ personnel when she'd settled, and now it was almost a gift from the gods to be surrounded by people who wouldn't ask too many questions about the strange comings and goings of Miss Roslin the harmless schoolteacher.

The cylon patrol is a little closer now, no longer so far off in the distance. Not yet close enough to hear the pinging of ice and water on their metal casing yet, but near enough to hear the gears turning as they march. He wonders which skinjob is leading tonight, if they're feeling the miserable cold just like everybody else. Maybe they're as impervious to the weather as the centurions. In the dark quiet of the tent, it's easy to forget time exists but for the footfalls of the cylons.

He checks his watch again and winds it a little, just to make sure that the time it's keeping is accurate. Once he dreamed that the watch broke and all he had left was the rippling shadows on the canvas to tell if it's day or night.

Laura should be back by now. It's been over four hours since she'd kissed a smile on his face and slipped out the door, black cap hiding her red hair.

_"I'll be back soon Bill. Don't wait up."_ She'd said, knowing full well that he would anyway. He could never sleep on nights like tonight. Instead he'd wait for her, candles unlit to avoid casting a shadow, until she was safely back with him.

_"Don't worry Madame President. I'll keep your bed warm for you."_

He wonders if anything's happened this time and fights the urge to pace. The family across the way (the only non-military people in this entire section) had a fussy child and sometimes the harried mother rocked the baby to sleep outside. They'd be sure to notice. He's trapped here, between the tent and the bunker. He hasn't seen the sky or felt the wind since he'd ducked into Laura's tent the day of the invasion. It had been in their best interests to keep him hidden; no one had known he was there except Saul up on _Galactica_. There's nothing like this waiting, though, the fear in it. Not even listening to the pilot's chatter in the CIC because at least then knew what was going on.

That was something that got to him, no matter how much self-control he had. Laura could be dying in a drainage ditch for all he knew, and he was powerless to help, confined by nothing more than godsdamn canvas walls. It's like he's fading away, and the helplessness gets to him even though he tries so hard to keep it from her. She has enough to deal with. Laura was the one out in the fray every day, gathering intel, putting her life at risk so he could sit like a king in the bunker. She didn't need to come home to him growling at her for things that weren't in anyone's control. She tries her best, explaining for hours the tactical advantages and disadvantages of his plans, drawing out maps of the settlement, tallying their resources.

The sound of running feet jerks his attention towards the north. For a moment he thinks that it's Laura, but they pass the tent and keep going until he can't hear them anymore. Whoever it was, they were heavy steps. Definitely a man. A little time passes, no more than a few minutes, and then there's metal gears and yelling and loudest of all, a terrified woman screaming "No, please! He hasn't done anything!" It's muffled from the distance, probably the next section over, but it's clearly some kind of struggle. A shot rings out, another scream. Then everything goes quiet.

Bill feels the adrenaline in his system, the urge to go out and look. That could be them, Laura and him, dragged away some night. They both know it. The pressure is starting to rattle them.

She's quieter every day, more tired, more frustrated. Slowly they are all being ground down by the cylons, the skinjobs asserting more and more control over the human population. Even the bubble Laura and he have created isn't safe from it anymore. They don't joke as much, they don't tease as much. He can tell she's starting to get desperate, just like everyone else, losing just a little more hope as the noose tightens.

_"Cavil censored my lesson plan again today," _she'd said one night, clambering down the ladder into the bunker. He'd been trying to coax the battered stove to throw off a little more warmth, and could tell she was angry just by the way she'd said it.

_"Oh?" _He'd replied, raising his eyebrow. _"How many times is that now?"_

_"Five. All I'm left with for tomorrow is calculus and spelling. It's getting ridiculous. The entire history of the Twelve Colonies is off the table." _She'd huffed, mimicking the Cavil's near-whispered threat. _"Or I might be 'removed' as teacher."_

He'd looked back to see her drop her face in her hands and her shoulders quiver.

_"Laura?"_

_"I'm alright Bill…It's just…I get so angry sometimes. Half the children are sick with a preventable disease. Two are dead already… All Cavil cares about is that I don't teach them about the Solstice celebrations because it's a 'pagan, heathen tradition' while the children try to learn their letters without getting frostbite."_

He looks at his watch again. Still too late. She's not back yet. No word, just the passing of time and the rhythmic thumping of the approaching centurion patrols.

This was dangerous. He was too close to it. No matter how idyllic life seemed when he woke up to her warm body clutched to his chest, there was always that undercurrent of terror. He was too close to her. No matter how much it didn't seem like it sometimes, New Caprica was still hell and they were the leaders of the resistance. He couldn't afford this. There was always that knowledge, even when he made love to her quietly in the night, that their carefully constructed world could come crashing down around them faster than it would take to blink. All it would take was a curious neighbor, a peeping child, a parent coming to speak with Laura before being invited in… Their safety was hanging by a thread. Even right now, as much as he could pretend Laura was simply a schoolteacher and he was simply waiting up for her after a late night at work, tonight could very well be the night that she simply didn't come back. The cylons had been watching her more closely lately, convinced that she knew more than she would tell them about the recent bombings.

Things were harder now. It had been four months without any word from Saul or Lee, four months of increasing Cylon aggression, four months of hiding in the bunker or Laura's tent, four months of her watching every single thing she said and did even in the privacy of her makeshift home to try and keep his presence a secret. It was four of the longest, bleakest months of his life and there was no guarantee that it would ever end.

He could feel it in her more and more, like a wire being coiled tighter and tighter. The constant fear, frustration, anger becoming just a bit more unbearable as time went on and the cylons began harassing her openly.

_"It's nothing Bill, just intimidation," _she had told him once after coming home with a fist-sized bruise across a cheek._ "I talked back to a D'Anna in Baltar's office and she punched me. She stopped after one, and it's not even that big,"_ she'd said, trying to push him away from fussing over her.

_"It's not nothing Laura,"_ he'd fumed. _"She had no right to touch you at all."_

_"Bill, really. We knew this was coming. Sooner or later it's not just going to be insinuations and dressings-down on Colonial One. I knew this when I asked you to stay here. I know it's going to happen, and that when the shit hits the fan it's going to be bad Bill. I'm prepared for it." _She'd looked him straight in the eye then, made sure he was listening, before asking him a simple question.

"_Are you?"_

Muscle memory supplies him with a ghost of the chill he'd felt in his spine at those words. And he couldn't deny it. If she was found out, even for just helping the resistance without him being discovered, she could very well face torture, maybe public execution. They'd heard the stories of the few that had been released from detention on New Caprica, the haunted eyes, the broken bodies, women and men who couldn't bear to have someone touch them without warning beforehand. Anders had a scar down his face from his time in, Tyrol a slight tremor in his hands that he tried to hide from Cally. Laura had thankfully escaped most of the cylons' attention for now, but she was right. It was only a matter of time.

He checks his watch again. 45 minutes until sunup. The window was closing, and if she didn't get back soon she would have to wait until the rest of tent city started to wake up and pray she wouldn't be recognized dashing back to her tent.

Bill begins to pray.

40 minutes.

35 minutes.

32 minutes.

30 minutes and 5 seconds.

28 minutes and 58 seconds.

27 minutes and 24 seconds.

26 minutes and 7 seconds.

25 minutes and 49 seconds. If she doesn't get back now, she's sure to be spotted.

It starts to get lighter

24 minutes and 30 seconds.

The cylon patrol is almost at his tent, maybe 20 feet away from it now, and the crunching ice is like shattering glass to his over-attuned ears. It's at that moment a soaked figure in black ducks into the tent.

It's her, he knows it, but he can't go to her just yet. The patrol is too close now and any strange noises are liable to provoke a random search of the tent.

They stare at each other silently from their respective sides of her tent through the darkness, hearts pounding in their chests. She's breathing heavily and he can see her nails digging into her palms. Tendrils of her wet hair have frozen from the cold, making it look like fire caught in glass.

Neither of them move.

The cylons are maybe five feet away from their tent now, heavy footsteps sounding louder than ever.

She smiles weakly at him, puts her hand over her heart.

The thudding steps get closer. Ice crunches not five feet from where they hide.

Her eyes squeeze shut and her lips start moving in a silent prayer.

The steps are right in front of their tent now and time, already stretched to its breaking point, seems to stretch a little more.

The footsteps move on.

They are both motionless for another few moments, letting the centurions move into the distance before going to each other. His hands tangle in her sodden hair, her chilled, wet lips press against his before either of them can say a word and give themselves away.

Later he will hate himself for not even thinking of the resistance, of not immediately focusing on the reality of their situation, but at that moment she's more real to him than even _Galactica_ and rescue. All he can think is _she's safe she's safe she's safe she's safe she's safe. _

They stay like that for a long time, the silence covered by their steady breathing as they clutch to each other a little while longer, reassuring themselves that they are still alive.

Outside, the sun begins to rise and disperse the clouds, weak light illuminating a sparkling sheet of ice and painting the landscape a wash of reds and yellows.

All is quiet.

These are the sounds of morning on New Caprica when they are together.


End file.
